


Come a Little Closer

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Post-Series, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she first suggests it, he doesn’t know what to do.  Still, though, he knows he can deny her nothing – and also knows his biggest worry is convincing Porthos.</p>
<p>Or: how it was Anne who decided there should be a threesome. (post-series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come a Little Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "Years later, Anne has grown comfortable enough that she wants to see Aramis being fucked by Porthos. Aramis goes mad with desire and love for both and demands being turned around so he can bury himself between her legs during it."
> 
> So... :D what it says on the tin.

When she first suggests it, he doesn’t know what to do. It’s been years now, years enough that she knows how deeply he loves Porthos. Years now that his beard is distinctly greying, and there’s some grey touching at her temples. It only makes her all the more beautiful to look at, to hold her in his arms even after all these years. There’s still a thrill to being able to – to be this close to her, without fear and without consequence. 

But this suggestion is enough to nearly make his heart stop – and he stares at her for a long moment in the aftermath of the words, with her touching at his neck, his shoulders, her fingers light and gentle in a way that even Porthos can’t achieve, his hands all sword-roughed and worn. 

Still, though, he knows he can deny her nothing – and also knows his biggest worry is convincing Porthos.

And yet, here they stand now – Porthos smiling shyly down at Aramis, his eyes darting from him to Anne. In the end, Porthos can deny Aramis very little – can deny Anne even less, despite their growing familiarity with each other. The years have helped. And yet—

“Are you sure?” Porthos asks, and Aramis isn’t sure if he’s asking him or her. But Aramis holds his breath. Waits. He tells himself he will be fine if they both decide against this after all. He tells himself he hasn’t been longing for this. 

“I’m sure,” Anne answers, voice clear and crisp as a bell – and he can hear the smile in her voice, can feel the way his heart twists up just hearing the self-assurance there, the expectation. “Please, by all means…”

Aramis turns his face up to look at Porthos properly. Lifts a hand and touches his cheek, touches at a relatively new scar he’s gotten since going back to the front. It’ll fade with time, unlike the others on his face, Aramis thinks. He tries not to focus on the pang he still feels every time Porthos comes back with a scar that Aramis didn’t sew for him. 

Porthos ducks down and kisses him. Aramis sighs out and kisses him back. Porthos is a little awkward at first, stiffer than he normally is – likely, obviously, because of the audience. Aramis tries to soothe, tries to tease and go slow, to coax Porthos closer. Eventually, he can feel the tension bleed from his shoulders and Porthos shifts closer. Aramis sighs out, kissing him slowly.

But soon enough, Porthos draws back. When Aramis blinks his eyes open, Porthos is looking at Anne. 

“Tell me,” Porthos starts and then stops. Swallows down and rests his hands on Aramis’ hips – still looking at Anne, not Aramis. “Your Majesty, tell me what to do.” 

Aramis actually shudders. He twists around enough to look at Anne over his shoulder. She’s standing, not too far away from either of them, her eyes on Porthos’ hands. She looks up when she notices them both looking at her – and gives a small smile. 

“Undress him, please,” she says and Porthos is quick to obey – stripping Aramis free of his clothes piece by piece. Aramis is pliant, still, lets Porthos do as he pleases. He doesn’t know where to look – caught between looking at Porthos, pleading for a kiss, and turning to look at Anne, pleading for her to let Porthos kiss him again. 

It’s almost too much, when Aramis finds himself on the bed, Anne sitting behind him at the head of it, he on his back. Porthos over him, fucking into him, holding his legs apart. The bottle of oil is still in Anne’s hands, keeping it warm in case more is needed. And Aramis feels as if he’s falling apart with each thrust. He stares up at Porthos, the silver in his hair, the crinkle at his eyes when he smiles down at him. His body moves, a fluid motion, rocks into him – and he’s known this for years and it still takes his breath away, watching the might and power in him, the way he holds him down. The way he’s, despite it all, too gentle. His movements now are gentle, guided only by Anne’s well-placed instructions. Go faster there. Move your hips more. Hold his legs up higher. It’s almost too much.

He feels he’s shaking apart, not just looking at Porthos, but listening to the quiet instructions from Anne. His entire body is going to shake apart because it’s almost physically painful to be so in love. Maybe this is why he’s never had them both at once – and oh, it’s been a hope, a secret wish he’s never actually spoken to, and that it’s Anne who offers it now—

He’s never had them both at once like this, or at all, and it’s almost too much. He didn’t think it was possible to love either of them more than he already does, but this is threatening to ruin him. His entire body shudders, on-edge and electrified. He gasps out weakly with each of Porthos’ movements, the slide of his hands down his thighs. 

“Please,” he gasps out, body arching. “Wait. Turn me over.” 

He twists around to look at Anne, pleading with her – please, please grant Porthos this permission. Seeing her properly, albeit upside down from his position, her cheeks are flushed and she’s biting at her lip. But she smiles at him gently – reaches for him. He whines, loudly, a low keening sound, when she touches at his hair and smoothes it away from his forehead.

“Please,” he whispers. 

She gives a small nod to Porthos and Aramis groans quietly when Porthos slips out of him. The loss is too great. But Porthos’ hands are sure and firm on him when he cups his hips, drags him down the bed, and flips him over. 

Aramis scrambles up onto his hands and knees, shuddering. He feels the bed dip as Porthos settles up onto the bed rather than stand at its edge. Aramis closes his eyes, arches, lets himself feel the blissful reentry of Porthos’ cock, the slow and slick slide of it, the way he edges around him – the way he feels absolutely safe with Porthos’ hands at his hip and ribs. He rocks forward with Porthos’ first thrust. 

Aramis whines, drops down onto his elbows and thrusts his hips back to meet Porthos. In this new position, though, he can reach for her – and he does. He holds out his hands to her in a pleading, open-palmed gesture. Asking, waiting for permission.

“Oh, Aramis,” she breathes out, when realization dawns. Porthos’ hands are soothing at his back, goading him forward. She lets him place his hands on her legs, part them slowly, and he draws her down close enough so he can lick over her, lap slowly at her clit and swirl his tongue down over her. 

She gasps out, and he groans. She’s already so wet, and her legs shiver beneath his touch. He drags his tongue over her, kisses sloppily at her thighs to reassure, and moves without his usual finesse, determined to drive her as quickly to pleasure as he can, so she might feel what he feels in this moment – utter and complete bliss. 

Her breaths are gasping and hitching little sounds, nothing like the deep grunts Porthos makes behind him. When Porthos thrusts forward, Aramis rocks forward, pressing his tongue inside of her. Anne moans out, breathless, and her hands fall into his hair. He squeezes her hips, slides his fingers down over her thighs, and lays worship to her with his mouth. 

“Should I touch him?” Porthos asks, his voice threadier than before – and Aramis shivers to think that this is doing something for him, too, watching the way he moves against her. 

Anne takes a moment to answer, but she drags her fingers gently through his hair and says, “I think he’d like that.”

Aramis whines his agreement and then shudders down his whole body when Porthos’ hand on his hip shifts and curls around his cock, stroking him in time to the slow rolls of his body, his cock inside of him. He whimpers and slides his tongue over Anne, circles around her clit, turns his head to kiss her thighs when her breathing gets too close to overwhelmed. He knows to take his time with her, to let her enjoy. He knows the point is that she should watch them, too. 

Aramis, predictably, is the first to come. It’s too much for him – a sensory overload. Anne’s hands in his hair. The taste of her on his tongue. Porthos’ hand on his cock. Another on his back. His cock inside of him. 

It’s too much. It only takes a tug of Anne’s hands in his hair and a tug of Porthos’ fist around his cock, and he’s coming with a sharp, hitching cry. He’s never actually blacked out from sex before, not during orgasm, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten – and he can understand the concept now, of being so blissed out, so happy, that it’s physically impossible to hold on to the tether of physicality. 

But Porthos’ soothing reassurances and Anne’s gentle touch at his temples is enough to make him feel anchored. He doesn’t want to miss a moment, no matter how much he feels blown apart just with love – with desire. This is more than he could have hoped for and he’s—

“I love you,” he moans out, nearly sobs it out – tries to say it to both of them and only manages both at once.

There’s a quiet silence, and he can picture the way Porthos and Anne exchange looks. And then Porthos’ hands are steady on his chest, lifting him up enough so that Anne can cup his cheeks and kiss him slowly. A moment later, he feels Porthos’ mouth, the scratch of his beard, against his neck and shoulder, moving up and kissing at his jaw and his ear. This, too, is almost too much.

“We know,” Anne whispers, once they part, their foreheads pressing together. Porthos nuzzles into his hair and bites at the shell of his ear. “But Aramis, if you’d be so kind…”

Aramis whimpers when she trails off significantly, when he feels the shift of Porthos behind him.

“Her Majesty wants to make sure we both get to come, too,” Porthos supplies and Anne laughs, her cheeks turning pink. 

“Yes. Yes, please…” Aramis gasps out, feels it from the tip of his head all the way down to his toes – that want, that desire, that surrendering need to make them both feel as overwhelmed as he does in this moment. 

He bows down to them both – lets Porthos fuck into him with abandon, feels himself getting filled. He bows down to them both – lets Anne draw him in closer, laps at her slowly but firmly, lets her shudder apart around him with his name on her lips.


End file.
